


Heartfate

by PaddyChan



Series: Heartbeat [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: First Meeting, Non-abducted Peter, Ronan's kind of a dick, Sorry (not sorry), This is Getting Out of Hand, Unconscious Ronan, but that's nothing new is it, no smut this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14620152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyChan/pseuds/PaddyChan
Summary: Stumbling over a blue guy in the woods, Peter does the only reasonable thing: Staying out of the the way and calling the police. Except he doesn't.





	Heartfate

**Author's Note:**

> I just want you to know that this series wasn't supposed to get a second work, let alone a third. So yeah... I hope you'll enjoy our dickheads' first meeting. They certainly don't.  
> Thank you SO much for your support and kudos on the previous works! This one would've never been written if it hadn't been for that (:  
> Also I'll have you know it's 2:30 am and I'm tired as fuck... therefore sorry for any occuring mistakes.

“Ooh-oo child, things are gonna get easier…” Softly singing along to the lyrics, Peter turned up the volume on his radio. “Ooh-oo child, things'll get brighter.“  
The last syllable got swallowed, as the car bumped into a pothole and he bit his tongue. “Shit,” he mumbled, cursing the fact he didn’t have the money to get even the most urgent repairs done. Hell, he rarely even had enough money to keep the car going somehow. However; things finally seemed to turn for the better again. He had started his new job two months ago; his bosses were two guys who had named themselves Rocket and Groot, because why the fuck not. And since the both of them wanted a partner rather than an employee, they treated him as such… which was probably the reason he still had the job, ‘cause authorities and him had never worked out. Might be the reason he got sacked after around three months all the time, he thought.  
“Some day, yeah, we'll get it together and we'll get it all done…”  
Yeah, it’d be better. Finally, he had gotten his shit together. Yesterday, he and Rocket had gotten totally smashed… Rocket, since his crush Gamora had brushed him off, and Peter since it was his mother’s anniversary of death. Rocket had given him today off afterwards, since he had “worked his sorry ass off” all week. And well… he had decided to visit his mother’s grave this morning. However, the graveyard she was resting on was in the middle of the fucking forest. She had always loved being outside, being in the wild, had adored trees, especially the really old, knaggy (and in his mind ugly) ones. And well… if your mom dies when you’re fourteen and you don’t even know your dad’s fucking name since the bastard had run off as soon as the word Pregnancy had been uttered, your life’d probably go down the drain, too.  
“Some day, when your head is much lighter… Some day, yeah, we'll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun…”  
Peter frowned and let the car slow down. Right next to the road the trees were scattered, as if a hurricane had smashed right into them. Peter hit the breaks and looked around. The trees’ crowns had been burst off, getting lower and lower to the West. However, it wasn’t… no. No storm would arise in the middle of a forest, smash through the trees, and simply cease existing after a mile or something.  
Maybe an asteroid? Peter’s face brightened. How cool would that be? He could either keep it to himself or sell it to whoever paid best. He turned right, steering the car onto the closest forest track. He was lucky, since it hadn’t rained in a while. Finally, he stopped and looked around. He’d have to walk the rest of the way, deeper into the forest. Soon, he had to climb around and above broken branches or even fully uprooted trees. The closer he got, the less remained standing and finally, he spotted the source of destruction, breathing an overwhelmed “Whoa,” as he took in the scenery. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an asteroid. Instead what he saw were scattered pieces of something black… metal? Parts of it were even still fuming. Whatever it was, it looked like something really big had just fallen out of the sky. He took out his phone. Even though the quality was crappy (he’d needed a phone, not a professional camera and money was always tight), he would so take some photos of this!  
And what the hell even was _this_? It didn’t look like parts of a plane. Maybe it was one of these NASA-rockets? Or rather, a part of one? But those weren’t black, at least the ones he’d seen on TV were usually white. This one however was totally black and there was something blue that looked like -holy shit.  
As fast as possible, he scrambled around the fuming mess towards something that looked way too much like a human hand. _Please don’t let it be a dead astronaut, please don’t let it be a dead astronaut…_  
Whatever it was, it was clad in something that looked like a black sweater and an equally black hoodie, revealing only the hands, since both feet were stuck under scraps. No wonder it took him so long to spot this inside all the other black stuff.  
“Hey!”, he kneeled down. “Can you hear me? Are you awake?” Wow. Awesome question, Quill. Whoever it was wouldn’t be hanging around here, if that was the case.  
Peter grabbed the metal scraps, pulling them aside as carefully as possible (holy shit that stuff was heavy). The feet were bare and as blue as the hands. Did people turn blue in outer space? No Quill, you moron, they didn’t. Not even dead people turned _that_ blue. He carefully lifted the hood, revealing the non-astronaut’s head. It was just as blue as the rest of skin he’d seen (no surprise here), however completely bald. Not even eyebrows, just long lashes covering closed eyes, large parts of the face covered in black -again, no surprise here- paint. No human looked like that. It was… it had to be… “Holy shit.” Peter swallowed. What was he supposed to do now? Call the police? He had to. One didn’t just stumble across an alien and _won’t_ call the police. Maybe he’d even get something. Preferably money. God knew he could use it. And they would take care of this mess.  
He dialled, carefully watching the still figure. Even the ground it lay on was black… except it wasn’t. Peter deleted the call before dialling the last digit and went to his knees again. It wasn’t the ground that was black, but the alien’s blood that had soaked the shirt and tainted the earth below. And fuck, there was a lot. He carefully pulled aside the sweater, revealing an ugly smeared wound below, that went halfway across the guy’s chest. Peter simply decided to make the alien a him, since he was missing tits… but well, he didn’t have nipples either, therefore that might have been a rather rash decision. The wound had stopped bleeding, at least. Peter took off his own shirt, tearing it up (there went twenty bucks) and tried to wrap it around the wound to cover it at least a little. He swallowed. Whoever this dude was, he’d clearly had a shitty day. If he called the police now, they’d take care of this. But would they care _for_ him?  
Another moment passed, then he rushed away. He had to get his truck closer, he’d never be able to get Alien Dude all the way there without hurting him even further. He tossed aside branches, trying to clear the way as good as possible. “Okay, old girl.” He got inside the car. “Don’t leave me hanging now.” Slowly, yard after yard, the truck forced its way through the trees, even though Peter had to get out more than once again, to move aside rocks and branches further out of his way. When he knew he couldn’t get any closer if he wanted to be able to turn around again, he stopped the engine.  
“Let’s get you home, dude.” He turned Alien Dude on his back, grabbing his armpits and lifting his upper-body off the ground. Fucking shit, that guy was Rambo on steroids or something. And he weighted a ton. Scratch that. Two. Peter forced his legs to move, swearing and fussing, out of breath after not even halfway to the truck. He took a few deep breaths. Halfway done. His legs trembled. He almost had it. Another step. And a third one. He had considered building a sleigh or something but that’d take too much time. Thus, he went on.  
Afterwards, he wasn’t even sure how he actually got Alien Dude onto the passenger seat. He just knew his knees gave out and he’d hit the ground with a rather pathetic “Oof”. But it didn’t matter. He’d made it. His legs shaking from exhaustion, he slid onto the driver’s seat, buckling up his still unconscious guest and himself. Hopefully, nobody’d notice the half-naked blue dude and the equally half-naked normal dude in his beaten-up Ranger.

Nobody noticed the half-naked blue dude and the equally half-naked normal dude in his beaten-up Ranger except for Mrs. Robinson but she was blind as a mole and just waved into his general direction as he drove past her and finally stopped at the front door. Thank God, he never actually sold the house, even though it’d been a close call more than once. However, his mom had loved the place and it contained some -or rather, most- of his happiest memories. Thus, even though it was hard, he always managed to scrap up enough money to keep everything running at least at a bare minimum.  
Alien Dude hadn’t woken up during the ride, but thank God getting him inside the living room was easier than dragging him through the forest. Still, he was panting hard again afterwards.  
Alien Dude was now sleeping on the couch and Peter nodded to himself before rushing off, to get the first aid kit from the bathroom. Then, he prepared a bucket of warm water and went back to his blue guest.  
Carefully, he cut open the hoodie; the black material was soft and reminded him of wool even though it was less scratchy. He pulled back the fabric, revealing a chest that was smeared by what seemed to be blood. It was black, tho. Creepy.  
He dipped a cloth into the warm water and carefully cleaned the blood. Alien Dude was covered in scratches and cuts, alongside the ugly wound that covered his front. He cut open the sleeves, getting rid of the sweater as it wouldn’t do good anymore and carefully cleaned the blue guy as good as possible. The water looked more like ink than anything else by now. He didn’t dare turning Alien Dude around to get a look at his back. Deciding against using any kind of salve (who knew whether aliens liked chamomile. Maybe he was allergic or something), Peter took the disinfection-spray to treat the gashes and cuts, making sure the wound was clean. It had started seeping again during his treatment. Then, he took the bandages and started wrapping them around the blue, heavily muscled torso. And well… that was as far as his knowledge in first aid went.  
He blinked. The trousers… what about the trousers? Should he remove them and check for injuries, too? Unlike his shirt, they weren’t soaked in blood and Alien Dude probably wouldn’t be too happy about waking up naked. Carefully, he washed his face, cleaning it of blood and something that had mixed with it… paint? It was striking, how much he looked like a human, if one didn’t pay attention to details as his bulging mass of muscles, the lack of hair or… well, the general colour.  
After having cleaned Alien Dude as good as possible (and changing the water twice), he wondered what to do. He was thirsty as hell. His unexpected guest might be as well, when -if- he woke up and thus, Peter got his lazy ass to the kitchen, to get two glasses and a bottle of water. Non-sparkling. He wasn’t sure if he should prepare any food. Who knew if Aliens ate meat or liked yogurt… well, he cut open an apple and a few slices of bread. Butter, too, if he wanted. Peter certainly did and munched the bagel he’d made for himself. It was his last one and even though he already proofed to be a pretty generous guy today, he wouldn’t share that.  
Sated, he put away his plate and leaned back his chair next to Alien Dude. He was so tired and his arms burned like hell. He didn’t even want to think about how they’d feel tomorrow. Just closing his eyes for a minute or two wouldn’t hurt, would it?

The minute (or two) turned into more than an hour and would’ve been even longer, hadn’t it been for his bladder waking him in the most urgent manner. Groaning, he got up. Fucking shit, now his legs hurt, too. _He_ was the one who needed medical treatment here!  
After having relieved himself, he made his way back to the living-room. How long was Alien Dude going to stay unconscious, anyway? It was for the best, probably, if- The back of his head smashed onto the floor -thank God for the carpet- and a huge, blue body hovered above him, nailing him to the ground quite effective. There was something sharp on his throat… a shard of glass. Alien Dude had apparently shattered it to gain a weapon or something. Peter didn’t even try moving, knowing the attempt would be futile. “Hey,” he greeted, a little awkward. “See you’re awake. I hope you’re fine… or well, at least not worse. I found you in the forest, you know? Did your UFO crash or something? Anyway, you’re heavy as fuck, dude. I’ll so be aching all over by tomorrow. Are you okay? Hungry maybe? I sure as hell am and- _hngh!_ ” He gasped for air, however; the attempt was in vain, since Alien Dude grabbed his throat with a single hand alone, cutting off his air flow. Peter’s eyes widened. That wasn’t what was supposed to happen (he should’ve known it would, tho, since he happened to be a moron sometimes). He was just… He didn’t want to die, being strangled by a blue dude from space who looked like some kind of angry Na’vi on steroids.  
And then, everything turned black.  
When he woke, he was tied to the chair he’d sat on, legs and arms bound together, keeping him in an immobile position that made his arms ache even further. He coughed heavily, his throat sore and aching. “Hey?”, he called, voice raspy. “Alien Dude? You there? You know, that was kinda low… I just wanted to-” A harsh voice interrupted him and Alien Dude appeared in front of him. He had some of Peter’s kitchen knives in his fingers. He asked something but all Peter could do was blink at him rather stupidly. He had no idea what Alien Dude wanted. Again, he was asked, this time Alien Dude was growling the question even angrier in his harsh language… but well, Peter still didn’t get shit. For a while, Alien Dude starred at him angrily, his violet eyes -Peter had never seen anything like them- narrowed and his lower lip sticking out a little. He wanted to touch it! Unfortunately, he was tied to a chair.  
Alien Dude said something in his harsh voice again. Peter looked at him with puppy eyes. “I just wanted to help you,” he complained. “And now you tied me up in my own house… not even the kinky way.” His stomach growled, reminding him a lunch consisting of a single bagel and some cheese was not satisfactory. Without looking away from him, Alien Dude took a piece of apple and smashed it in Peter’s mouth, his own lips curling into a snare. Surprised, Peter chewed and swallowed. “Thanks, dude. You know, maybe you could-” Alien Dude nearly seemed surprised, even if his face remained blank and took another piece of apple, offering it to his mouth. Peter blinked in surprise. Feeding? Well, wasn’t that something new. Obediently, he chewed again, before raising his eyes to Alien Dude’s. He took the bottle of water, considering for a moment, before filling the remaining glass, also offering to Peter’s lips. Okay… he was supposed to drink. Better not argue with big, blue alien guy. He took a sip, however, as soon as he had swallowed, Alien Dude forced his mouth open with two fingers, looking inside. Then, he downed remaining water himself, before eating the last pieces of apple.  
“Peter.” He tried to point at himself using his chin, however, the result was rather clumsy. Alien Dude didn’t answer, instead he took a slice of bread, breaking a piece and holding it to his lips, demanding purple eyes watching him. Obediently, Peter took the bite and swallowed. Alien Dude devoured the bread, too, after that and finally, Peter caught up. “It’s not poisoned, you know? I wouldn’t even know how to get stuff for that.”  
Alien Dude sat on the sofa, carefully examining the bandages Peter had put on. His eyes met Peter’s and travelled to the scissors, bandages and spray still laying on the table. He asked something in that rough language of his, making Peter look at him rather stupidly (again). Growling, he pointed at the medical devices, then at Peter, and finally at his own bandaged chest.  
Peter nodded in answer. Yes, he’d patched him up. However; Alien Dude didn’t seem too happy about his clarification; he growled something under his breath yet again.  
Then, he opened the door to the floor and just… left Peter there. “Hey!”, he shouted, pouting. “You can’t just leave me here! That’s my house, you know?”

Alien Dude could. Totally could. And he did. What a dick.  
It took nearly two hours until he returned, looking even grumpier than before and… pouting? Silently watching him, he stood in front of Peter’s chair for a moment, his face betraying none of his thoughts. Then, a knife snapped forward.  
Peter flinched as the blade severed the knots, not even an inch apart from his skin. Then, he blinked in surprise, realising he hadn’t been stabbed twenty-four times or something. “Thanks, Alien Dude!” He grinned, finally getting up and stretching his back. He pointed at his chest. “Peter,” he repeated, expectantly looking at the blue man in front of him, who watched him out of mesmerizing violet eyes. Unfortunately, Alien Dude didn’t seem to care too much and preferred growling at him.  
The rather one-sided conversation was interrupted by the doorbell. Peter glanced out of the kitchen’s window. Hopefully, it was just Rocket wanting to invite him to – “Fuck!” It wasn’t Rocket. It was the police. Of course, it was. “Okayokayokay…” He took a deep breath. “Stay,” he pointed at Alien Dude. “Here,” he finished, pointing at the room. He’d prefer bringing him upstairs, however; a part of the floor was visible from outside… This was the best he could do. The bell rung again. “Coming!”, he shouted, making his way to the door. “Rocket I told you, I can’t take care of-” He blinked in a quite convincing act of surprise. “I’m sorry, I was expecting someone else… Can I help you?”  
“We’re sorry to disturb, Mister Quill, but did you happen to notice something unusual today?”  
“Unusual?” Peter frowned. “Well, I wasn’t at home for a few hours, but… no, I can’t say I’ve noticed anything strange.” Apart from a blue, bulky alien but they didn’t ask for that, did they? “Did something happen?”  
“No, please don’t be concerned, we merely got some phone-calls and decided to be rather safe than sorry,” one of the two officers answered and Peter nodded, frowning. “I hope, nothing happened.”  
“So do we. Thank you for your cooperation.” The two of them went back to their car and Peter shut the door. That’d been easy… Thank God, he was a pretty convincing liar if it came to it.  
Alien Dude scowled at him, as he re-entered the living room. Seemed to be a rather unfunny guy; what a shame. Peter sighed. Damn, he was hungry… apart from the pieces of apple Alien Dude had stuffed into his mouth and the bagel, he didn’t have anything since breakfast. Time to order some pizza.

Half an hour later, two cheese pizzas were set on the table, making his mouth water. His involuntary guest was upstairs, doing… something. Peter frowned. “Alien Dude! Food!” No response. “It’ll get cold! C’mon, man, I’m hungry as fuck!” Still nothing. Grumbling, he made his way upstairs. The door to the TV room (his mother had loved watching National Geographic on the small sofa without having to hear him complaining) was closed and he knocked twice, before opening the door… or rather, attempting to. Turned out it was locked. “Hey man, you can’t just go in there! That’s my mom’s room! Besides, what’re you doing there, anyway? Get down, or I’m gonna start eating without you! Do you even-” The door slammed open, nearly ramming his nose (and probably slamming it right into his brain or something) and he was staring at a bandaged bulk of blue muscles blocking his view. Alien Dude growled and Peter blinked, forcing his eyes to lift to his face -unwise choice, at least the chest hadn’t been able to give him the death-glare. Alien Dude snapped something at him and he blinked. Oh, yeah… There’d been a reason to come up here. “Food.” He pointed at his mouth and stomach, then downstairs. Alien Dude still glared at him and finally, Peter’s shoulders slumped a little. He was making so much effort, but it seemed he didn’t even care. Fine, he’d just eat alone, then. He hated eating alone… It reminded him every time how his mom was missing. She’d always make sure they had dinner together.  
He sat down and cut a slice of pizza, starting to eat. Maybe Alien Dude just didn’t like him and… He flinched, as a blue hand came into his field of vision, changing his plate with the untouched one across the table, before taking the knife and cutting slices like Peter had done. His lips twitched to a small smile. Did he still think Peter might poison his food…?  
Alien Dude wolfed down his dinner, obviously hungry. Peter hadn’t even eaten half of his when he was done. But well… He could make himself toast or something later. He took the last bite of his recent slice, before shoving the plate across the table, towards Alien Dude. Purple eyes burned into his and he looked back, shoving the plate closer. He got up to get two glasses and his last bottle of cherry-coke. Filling both, he took an obligatory sip out of one, then shoved it to Alien Dude. Finally, he settled for his own. His stomach still growled and he sighed, taking a banana that happened to be a little too ripe.  
Way more slowly, Alien Dude finished the last half of pizza, his purple eyes never leaving Peter, taking a careful sip of his coke. _“Ronan.”_  
Peter looked up. “What?”  
Alien Dude pointed at him. _“Peter,”_ he said, the name sounding strange in his rough language. Then, he pointed at his own chest. _“Ronan.”_  
For a moment, Peter looked at him stupidly. Then, a huge grin spread across his face. Finally!  
After dinner, Alien Dude -Ronan!- disappeared back into the TV-room, while Peter settled for something to read. When it started getting late, he made his way upstairs, knocked, and finally opened the door -it wasn’t even locked this time. “Ronan, I’m- _Whoa!_ ” The room was, frankly spoken, a mess. The TV had been completely disassembled, and he recognised the bathroom-radio, or rather, pieces of it. And was that… was that his fucking microwave?! Ronan was fixing some cables, before looking to him. _“Peter.”_  
“What… what did you…” Peter swallowed. What did he do?! Without even defending himself, Ronan pointed at him, then at some… mess… and said something. After a while, Peter understood he was supposed to lift the TV-screen. Sighing, he made his way through the chaos, carefully lifting the screen. How was he supposed to buy all of that new? Maybe Rocket would be able to get something cheap, the guy had a knack for technology. Ronan attached something that looked like a chip to the side, and carefully fastened some cables. When he nodded at him, Peter let the screen down. Then, he gestured at Ronan’s bandages. Maybe they needed to be changed? However, Ronan declined, shaking his head.  
Peter asked him to follow and after frowning, Ronan actually got up. They went across the floor, entering the spare room. There was nothing fancy about it, but it had a bed, a sink, a mirror and a small board to store some clothes. The sheets had been just changed. Peter went to the bed table, grabbing the bottle of water and taking a gulp, before putting it back. There was also the first aid kit he’d made sure to bring, as well as a toothbrush and a new tube of toothpaste. He opened it, squeezing some on the toothbrush and started brushing his teeth for a moment, before spitting the remains into the sink, washing them down. Better make sure Ronan wouldn’t refrain from using it in his seemingly constant worry to be poisoned or something. He put both onto the sink.  
Then, he pointed from Ronan to the room. He’d have a place to sleep, if he wanted to.  
When he didn’t get an answer, he pointed at himself and the room next door, which happened to be his bedroom. A few moments passed in an awkward silence, then Peter waved. “Good night, Ronan. Call, if there’s anything.” He didn’t get an answer. Of course, he didn’t. Instead, he went to bed.

When he got up, Ronan was already working in the TV-room. However; the spare room’s sheets weren’t as Peter left them -to be honest, they were way too accurately folded- and Peter smiled. Ronan had used the bed, after all. He knocked at the TV-room door, before opening it (again, it wasn’t locked). “Morning, Ronan,” he greeted, looking up… and swallowing. Fucking shit, Ronan was changing his bandages… Strong muscles that probably outweighed all of his own combined shifted beneath his blue skin, and… fucking shit, if that wasn’t the hottest alien he’d ever seen.  
_“Peter,”_ Ronan growled in answer, frowning when he had to twist himself a little, to knot the bandages. Without even thinking about it, Peter stepped forward. He took the bandages’ ends, carefully sealing them, unaware of the fact Ronan’s fingers had shifted but an inch behind his neck, ready to snap it in the split of a second. It was so slim, he was able to circle it with a single hand if he pressed down a little.  
However, Peter stepped back and… smiled. What did someone this _weak_ , this _pitiful_ have to smile about? This so-called techology of his was laughable, his body was so weak he’d be able to crush him without even truly attempting too. When he’d woken up yesterday, it was due to Peter leaving the room. He’d overpowered him the second he returned, attempting to crush his pitiful figure beneath him, but then… He didn’t. It would have been sympathy to redeem someone that disgustingly weak from existence, to grand him death by nothing but his hands. Thus, he’d subdued.  
The weakling had woken after a far too long time and just thinking about it made Ronan’s eyes wanting to twitch. How could someone so weak, so unworthy, so dump, be so ridiculously happy?  
It took a while for him to realise: While the strange man -if he could even be considered such- was silly, way too talkative (it was a bliss he couldn’t understand him or he’d never stop until Ronan cut out his tongue) and above all, annoying, he was anything but stupid. From all he noted, Peter actually was quite smart. Yes, Ronan had noticed it had been some kind of authority who’d been at the door (he recognised authority, even though he didn’t understand what was explicitly said. It simply was carried in the way of talking, emphasising, voicing…) and without even hesitating, Peter had whisked them away. He’d treated his injuries -even though in a shaming antediluvian way-, had offered him food (even picking up on demonstrating it wasn’t poisonous), gifting him a -way too soft; his back hurt when he got up- bed, without… even asking for anything, really. Not that Ronan would cater to it. But still, it annoyed him.  
He’d slept for merely a few hours, before continuing to work on the emergency signal he’d build out of whatever he found around. Correctly assembled, microwaves were powerful enough to at least reach the outer controllers, getting caught and amplified by -hopefully- at least one of his people. He didn’t even know which planet he was on!  
He lowered his hand when Peter stepped back -he probably hadn’t even been aware of the fact Ronan had been but a hairbreadth away from snapping his neck- and gave that way too open, beaming smile Ronan had to have come accustomed to. He pointed at his mouth, then his stomach, then below. Ronan nodded. He needed to stay nourished, his body still was healing.  
Peter handed him two plates and after a moment, he understood: Peter wanted him to place them on the table. He wanted him, _him_ to do the work of a servant, to set the table, to disgrace himself… he grabbed the small knife on his side of the table. He would show him what it meant to disgrace him, he would… Peter turned around, gifting him another of his beaming smiles and continues to set two glasses, a bottle of water and something that looked like juice of an orange fruit on the table. Ronan had every right to simply slice his throat for the indignity of _asking him to set the table_ , however… he didn’t even know. Ronan huffed. If one was as honourless as this… being, one was unable to know such a thing.  
He placed the plates on the table, one for himself, one for Peter.  
However, the very second Peter attempted to take his seat, the door was being burst open. Peter yelled in surprise, as two armoured Kree stormed inside. Ronan recognised their face-pattern, they were of the outer guards, probably the first ones to get his signal.  
When they noticed Ronan, they immediately took aim at Peter, taking out the threat he was. Whoever he was, the fact alone he dared to sit on the very same table with the Accuser was outranging! There was no way he- “Stop.”  
Heads whipping around, the Outers stared at him and for a moment, Ronan cursed himself. Why didn’t he let them shoot him? Peter was a nuisance, he had seen Ronan at his weakest, dared to touch him and… _“Ronan?”_ Aside from the fact he didn’t use his title, Peter didn’t even pronounce his name correctly. That alone was reason enough for his annihilation. But his eyes… the eyes that had always, always been bright in this outraging happiness of his were -for the very first time- frightened. Even when he’d woken up after Ronan had captured him, he’d started babbling right after.  
“Accuser Ronan?” The Outers couldn’t believe their eyes. This… _Terran_ talking to the head of their military forces was simply- “We will not waste any more time. I will return to Hala immediately.” He got up, without even gifting Peter a last glance.  
Large, green eyes followed him all the way out. Ronan had no reason to turn around. He wouldn’t see them again, after all.


End file.
